


In Which Raffles is Sick

by sumhowe_sailing



Series: rafflesweek2018 [6]
Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Raffles gets sick and Bunny takes care of him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 11:03:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13973706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumhowe_sailing/pseuds/sumhowe_sailing
Summary: For the prompt "Domesticity"





	In Which Raffles is Sick

**Author's Note:**

> Me at the beginning of rafflesweek: "I'll just write them all the night before, how bad can it be?"  
> Me last night at 10:30 realizing I hadn't written anything: ...
> 
> (Sorry, this one's super short and choppy and unfinished)

I had played nurse to Raffles often enough in our days in Earl Court, yet I had never done so while he was truly ill. Not, that is, until our first winter in Ham Common when an ill-advised theft went awry and we ended up splashing through a half-frozen stream to get away. The next morning, I was a little stiff but no more; Raffles, on the other hand, felt too dreadful to get out of bed. I found this out when I peered into his room at quarter past ten to ask if he was ever coming downstairs.

“Go to hell,” he snapped, though the effect was ruined by the sneeze that followed immediately after. It was everything I could do not to laugh. Instead, I made my way back to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Raffles sounded a little more human when I returned with toast and tea. I tried to get him talking, but ‘pleasant chat’ was not on his agenda for the day. All he wanted to do was to cradle his tea and go back to sleep. Taking pity, I let him.

 

I was not so kind the next time. I brought him some hot (though inexpertly made) soup; when he had finished with it, I nagged and dragged at him til I got him out of bed and into the hot bath I’d drawn for him. He gratefully sank into it, as far down as he possibly could, then raised a hand to shoo me out. While he soaked, I laid a fire in the grate downstairs. I also carried down a few spare blankets and pillows and began a fumbling, though ultimately successful attempt to make hot cocoa.

I had to add another log onto the fire before I heard a word from Raffles. Risking his ire, I went to check on him—and found him fast asleep in the lukewarm water. If looks could kill, then his face upon being woken would surely have damned me. The feeble gratitude with which he accepted his coca once he was bundled up and seated by the fire was apology enough for all his evil-moods that day. And the next.


End file.
